


Rainy Day Blues

by SueDNym



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, Caretaking, Detective Noir, F/M, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Robot Feels, Robots, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SueDNym/pseuds/SueDNym
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when she rolled into town looking more beat up than my first Corvega and twice as dangerous.  Disaster was written over her clearer than a Vault Tec billboard- and it wasn’t just the clingy jumpsuit and killer curves.  Trouble was always finding it’s way to my doorstep and when it knocked I let it right on in. I may have had an upgrade to the old processor, but I was still just a fool of a man underneath.Nick POV noir style fluff.  Nora shows up at the agency injured and Nick takes care of her.





	Rainy Day Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally part of another series I'm working on called "The Tin Man Series: The Adventures of Nick and Nora" so some might recognize it from before.  I edited it out as a one shot, even if I'm sticking with the Nick POV style for the whole series.  Anyway I hope you’ll like it’s finished version as a stand alone.  Pull up a chair, pour yourself a glass of bourbon, light up a cigarette, and enjoy.  If you want a little mood music, I listened to this while I wrote it https://open.spotify.com/user/sergiosaldana545/playlist/0FwGP0A8r4h9dE0nlQaigq after listening to Nick talk for 15 minutes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCVj-tYjqfo&t=2115s Does anyone else listen to characters talk for a bit so you can hear their voice in your head when you write/read? Am I just weird?

It was a dark and stormy night; the rad clouds were looming over Diamond City like a great specter cackling ominously. Bright bolts of light flashing through thick clouds of eerie green, a reminder of the ruin wrought by mankind. It wasn't the kind of night for any man to be out, or any synth for that matter. The irradiated rain was coming down heavy and thick, ticking off the tin roof hollowly like a clock marking out the hours no one seemed to care about anymore. My internal clock struck 2:00 a.m. A useless reminder of late nights to a man that didn’t need sleep any longer, if you could even call him a man. I sat at my desk, jacket draped over the back of my chair, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The thin trail of my cigarette my only company other than the case files beneath my metal fingers. Ellie was off with that Travis kid from the radio station; too bad things didn’t work out for him and Scarlet, but now that he had a backbone Ellie seemed to take notice and so did he. Good for them, it was about time the girl took a shining to someone who wouldn't end in heartbreak. Sweet girl Ellie, and kind to a fault, but the kid deserved better than cold cases and colder sheets. Loosening my tie, I leaned back in my chair picking up the file labeled “Vault 111” for the hundredth time since True Blue had skipped out with Piper to chase a lead. I settled in, propping my heels up on the desk more out of habit than anything else, and took a long drag- the ember at the tip of the cigarette glowing as brightly as the filament of my eyes under the shadow of my battered fedora. I scanned the pages of the file and tried to tell myself it was because I might find something I hadn't before. That something might click into place like a puzzle piece nobody knew the picture to anymore.

After 3 minutes and 21.356 seconds I tossed the file back down on the desk with a slap, it was a false cover to hide my concern and it couldn't have been more transparent. I had to face the facts, and the fact was that now that I'd finished solving the case about the striking shadow, the black bird statue, the caps hidden in a toy doll, and just about anything else I could get my hands on, I had nothing left to fill my time but worry. The dames had been gone almost a week now, with not even a word from Piper; and that woman usually had a whole lotta words. They weren't supposed to be gone this long, just a few days, a minor lead. They'd headed off toward Sanctuary half a day’s walk, a day at most. Even if they had gotten caught up at the homestead with Nora still trying to fix that damn washer dryer combo with Sturges or if they’d gotten sidetracked to defend one of the nearby Minuteman settlements on Preston’s request, it still just didn't add up. The more I thought about it, the more agitated I got, and that sinking feeling deepened in the pit of... well whatever it was that I had that passed for a stomach these days. I reached for another cigarette but my pack was already empty, nothing but dust motes floating around the opening in the lamplight. I took that as good of a sign as any to get a move on. No use sitting around here re-reading case files I had already put to memory. Reaching out to grab my tattered trench coat from the chair I paused, tracing the stitches of a patch Nora had carefully sewed on after that run in with the super mutants in the radio tower. Don’t get me wrong, if anyone could handle herself out there it was Nora, but something about the whole situation just wasn't sitting right and I'd learned long ago to listen to my gut. Tossing on my jacket, I stepped over to the filing cabinet pulling out a rusty drawer and grabbing a fresh pack of smokes, a few extra power cells, and some stimpacks for good measure before stuffing them into my pocket and heading to the door.

I hadn’t so much as reached out to turn the knob when my auditory sensors picked up the sound of footsteps drawing near. I pushed up the brim of my hat with the tip of my gun and tilted my head toward the sound, the action seemed like a useless gesture ingrained from some old cop but it was programmed to crank up my audio receptors without my having to manually run the application and so my processors went to work. The steps approaching were heavy with a slight wet drag to one side, there was a quick sidestepping splash and the scrape of metal and leather against the wall, then a rustle of paper. So much for that Nuka Cola Quantum ad- what was left of it anyway. The scent of blood and burnt fabric slinked in the air through the rusted crack beneath the door, and I could easily pick up the sound of labored breathing. Injured then. Close behind the first figure came the pattering of four smaller feet shuffling close in the wet, and a pathetic pleading whimper that could only have been Dogmeat. No question about it, Nora was back. So much for my heroic rescue, a bit belated by the sound of things. I couldn’t detect any clues as to Pipers whereabouts as things stood, but Publik Occurrences was closer to the city entrance than my old office off third. It was surprising Nora didn’t crash with Piper for the night, it wouldn't have been the first time and Nat was fond of the dog. It wasn't like her to-

My thoughts were interrupted by a pitiful whine and the sound of blunt claws scratching at the door from outside. Better let the dauntless mutt and his pretty partner in. The door creaked on its hinges as I pulled the handle and opened it, and there they were- a sad sight if ever I saw one. I should have taken the red smear of a handprint on the wall illuminated by the stark light of the single hanging bulb behind her as fair warning, but still I wasn't quite prepared for the sight.

Nora looked like she'd been through hell and back, and knowing the trouble that woman managed to get into, I wouldn't have been surprised if she had. She was always pale but her classic ivory was white as a ghost, the neon pink light of the agency sign flickering futily as it struggled to bring some color to her face, the sickly green of the rad clouds oozing down the alley only deepening the pallor by contrast. Somehow her dark hair managed to stay perfectly coiffed in that shoulder length curled bob she preferred, I don't know how she managed it, but the rest of her looked like she'd been run through the wringer then dumped back in the bucket again. The rain had washed away most of the blood but the cut across her forehead was still leaking profusely down the side of her cheek over a purpling bruise that squinted her right eye at the peak of her already high cheekbone. There were no less than three bullet wounds. Two to her left arm, her shoulder and bicep, the makeshift sling she'd manufactured from some old field hand’s clothes did absolutely nothing to hide. The other gunshot was straight to her gut which she clutched painfully, blood oozing over the brown leather of her gloved fingers. Yeah, I took a bullet thereabout once while chasing after Colin O'Malley near Arlington Greens. The son of a gun hurt like hell, doubt hers felt any better. The blue of her vault suit was black on the outside of her right leg from hip to calf from what was clearly a molotov cocktail, parts burned through to show the angry red flesh in places. She was shaking harder than a mirelurk egg before hatching but I couldn't detect if it was due to being soaked through with irradiated rain in the cold or shock from her wounds. Dogmeat limped in on one leg, the poor mutt didn't look much better, like he'd gone a few rounds too many with a deathclaw in a tarberry patch and then took a nap on a yao guai trap.

“What the hell happened out there Nora?” I demanded harshly, the worry roughening my voice more than intended.

“Dr. Sun already turned in for the night and Piper and I were all out of stimpacks.” Nora explained through gritted teeth.

I frowned in displeasure at her answer and narrowed my eyes. In response she placed her free hand on the door frame and leaned forward, wearing the stern look that she'd practiced to stop raiders in their tracks and me my more abrasive lectures regarding her safety. Being banged up as she was only made the expression more intimidating. I decided to drop the speech for now, if only for the reckless broad’s own damn good. I settled for a disappointed shake of my head, and grumbled, “Let's get you fixed up.”

Slinging her good arm over my shoulder, I helped her shuffle into the room and shut the door behind us with a kick. Dogmeat whined with concern, tail low as he circled in front of us worriedly. To ease the poor mutts troubles I pulled out a stimpack from my pocket. Perking up, the dog barked and nudged Nora's hand. Nora broke free from my hold, wavering a bit as she righted herself to stand on her own two feet.

“Here give it to me,” she commanded and I handed the thing over to her without a thought. I realized then just how much some habits had become ingrained in me and kicked myself for the fact that somewhere along the line I had begun to take her orders automatically. 

Come on Valentine, where are your manners? Poor thing’s weaker than a hatchling.

I moved to help the gal out but she held out a hand, “Let me do it,” she said. It sounded like a plea, so I watched with a rueful smile while Nora, being the ever giving saint that she was, move to heal the dog first. Taking a deep breath she gritted her teeth and reached for her conscientious canine comrade. Fresh blood oozed from her side further darkening her leather glove and the edge of her sling. While she was pale before, she was downright bluish now. The needle wobbled erratically a few inches from Dogmeat's neck, and she bit her lower lip to try and steady herself. I wasn't sure which was more painful to watch, the stupid trusting mutt just sitting there waiting like a fool, or the other stubborn animal digging her own grave.

“That's enough,” I growled harshly, “I don't know what you're trying to prove here but you're in no shape for this. I may not be man’s best friend, but I know a damsel in distress when I see one, and I don’t like the role reversal.” She looked up at me with hurt in those baby blues of hers and I couldn’t help but feel like an ass. Christ, who knew what she’d been through. I regretted the rough tone almost instantly. Giving her a self-chastising smile in return and re-calibrated my vocal modulation to something more soothing this time murmuring smoothly, “I got this Darlin'.“

There was hesitance, something must have happened out there, and I wondered briefly what it was as her obstinance ultimately yielded to the gentle notes in my voice and she stretched her hand out to me. Carefully I took the stimpack from her trembling fingers and with the proficiency of a machine I administered the healing agent. 

Dogmeat barked appreciatively before glancing to Nora with a worried whimper. “Don't worry. She's in good hands. Well er, hand anyway.” A wet nose brushed my metal fingertips searchingly and I scratched the mutt behind the ear in return, “You’re right. Still good for petting, I suppose” the shepherd gave an approving bark before turning with a concerned whimper to his master, ears flat against his head in sympathy.

“Go on boy. You did good,” Nora commended in a rough whisper. Obediently the mutt padded over to lay down near the desk watching us intently with wide brown eyes. Exhausted, Nora leaned back against the concrete wall near the door, her shoulder against the filing cabinet, her head resting against the perilously perched cardboard box on top of it. She was dripping rainwater and Lord knows what else onto the case files in the box beside her.

“Jesus, Nora you look like something the molerat dragged in,” I quipped with a slight smile, trying to bring some levity to the situation as I pulled out another stimpack. There was silence for a moment as she stared blankly at the crooked painting on the wall behind, me saying nothing. 

“Not enough energy for a witty retort? From you, that’s rarer than a mild-mannered radscorpion.” The tap of my metal finger on the syringe rang as hollow as the jibe as I cleared the needle. “Went clean through?” I asked with a gesture to the bullet wound in her stomach, getting back to business. It was clearly the wound that needed the most attention. Her eyes slipped shut and she nodded almost imperceptibly. I found a good spot near the entry point and pressed the needle through the thick fabric of her vault suit, “Here this oughtta help,” I said over the pressurized hiss of the injection, watching as her brows knitted tightly before easing somewhat. Letting out a breath, she straightened herself upright, some of her color had returned but it would take a lot more than one dose to undo this kind of damage. My memory banks helpfully supplied me with the data that there were precisely three more stimpacks in various locations throughout the office and two more currently in my pocket. I readied another dose.

“Wait. The bullet in my shoulder. Went in deep and stuck. You're going to have to dig it out first. The stimpack will just heal the wound around it. Probably already started to... sorry,” she apologized between uneven breaths.

I always hated that part and she knew it, but if my metal digits were a constant reminder that I was less than human, the fact that most of my sensors were intact meant that at least they were better than forceps at finding bullets, “Sure, sure. Let me just ah...”

Taking care to ensure she was stable against the filing cabinet and the cement wall. I stepped away to round the dilapidated desk and pulled open a drawer. Retrieving my trusty screwdriver I tightened up any loose joints in my hand before trading the tool for a clear glass bottle of liquid bearing a shoddy paper label reading “Bobrov’s BEST Moonshine” taped over the original orange. Pulling out the cork, I poured the strong alcohol over my metal hand to sterilize it.

“About the only thing this rotgut booze is good for,” I griped, then with a pause I peered over to her beat up and bleeding across the room.

“Then again, desperate times...” I lifted the bottle toward her in offering, and was rewarded with a fraction of a smile tugging at the corner of her full lips. My coolant pumps stuttered for a half second. Damn it all to Hell, even with her standing there half-dead soaked to the bone, covered in blood and ash, she was still a goddess.

“Ellie will have your head for that mess,” Nora quipped, her voice still strained but stronger now.

I followed her gaze down to the desktop where I'd made a puddle of moonshine that was slowly creeping toward the green desk fan. “Well she's always telling me to clean-up around the place, can't blame a guy for tryin',” I returned. I used the ragged edge of my coat to mop up a bit of the fluid for effect, before sauntering back over to her Vlad's special still in hand. “Besides,” I continued smoothly, gesturing the cardboard box beside her with the bottle, “Look who's talking. I hope there wasn't anything important in those files.”

Nora looked down at the crimson blood dripping from her elbow and oozing down the side of the filing cabinet into the jumbled series of case files in the box below. There was a growing pool of irradiated rainwater around her feet that was already soaking one corner of the cardboard box. She frowned, and shifted to move out of the way but her motion was cut short as she hissed in pain, gripping her injured arm and rocking forward. Dogmeat sat up suddenly in alert ears perking forward.

“Hey now, no swaying on your feet before you've even had a sip,” I cautioned, steadying her with a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

“Just give me that,“ she huffed and snatched the bottle from me with her good arm, swallowing a hearty drought the likes of which would have impressed even Cait, before she handed the container back to me.

Placing the hooch on top of the filing cabinet I shifted the sodden box out of the way with my foot clearing out our work space. I made a point to look down as I pushed up my sleeve and recalibrated my radial arm sensitivity to maximum settings, flexing my metal digits in an unneeded display of testing. It gave her a moment to steel herself- which she did- planting her feet shoulder width apart and straightening her back with only a slight gasp and a quickening of her breath. Dogmeat whimpered and looked up and he and I shared a look of understanding before he laid his head down on his his paws relaxing. Once Nora’s breathing slowed, I lifted my head and her practiced mask of determined resolve was back in place.

“You ready?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“As ready as I can be,” she replied with a brave smile.

“Let's get to work then.”

Nora shifted the soiled flannel of her sling to the side to give me better access to the wound. She'd tried to get at the bullet already herself, probably before realizing it was too deep, I could see a small 'X' that was cut through the fabric of her vault suit around the bullet hole, just below her clavicle and to the left on her chest. It was almost like a badge, that is if they gave out badges for nearly getting yourself killed. The wound in her stomach had been no bigger than a bottlecap probably a .308 from a rifle. I'd ruled out Gunners, who generally preferred laser weapons, though it wasn't out of the question, but with the damage from the explosives and the dog bite on her leg super mutants were far more likely. This wound in her shoulder though, this was out of place, definitely from a .45, the kind submachine guns left drilled through you. Lord knows I'd seen my share of corpses littered with them during my time on the force. The hole was slightly swollen and red but not infected so it hadn't time to fester, not that she would have made it very far with that shot to her gut anyhow. This one was a little older by the inflammation but still wouldn't put her at more than an hour or two away.

I paused to run the data through the old processor and it all clicked into place: Piper ducking out, the bravado, the guilty look.

“Got involved in Cooke's shady chem deal on the way back after all did ya? I thought I told you two to stay out of that mess.” I chastised, pressing a finger cautiously against her flesh at the opening to the wound which oozed out fresh blood.

She flinched, and I worried for a moment I'd hurt her, but when I glanced up at her face there was surprise in her eyes.

She was caught red handed then, more literally this time around than I liked.

“Well I wouldn't be a very good detective if I couldn't figure that one out now would I?” I grumbled, rebuffed less by her lack of confidence and more by the fact that it was clear she hadn't planned on telling me.

”Nelson couldn't hit a bloatfly with a rocket launcher but Trish is a mean shot from what I hear and none too shy on the muscle. You're lucky you didn't come outta that looking like swiss cheese. No wonder you ran outta stimpacks.” I reprimanded as I carefully slid one metal digit into the wound. She sucked in a breath sharply and her blue eyes were watery as she looked at my tie like it would make a really swell handkerchief. Dogmeat whined. Why couldn't the stubborn dame just listen for once instead of always running head first into the worst kinda danger?

“You know if you wanted Morowski's password for the access terminal that badly you could've just asked me to hack it for you; not like it was a big secret that he ran his operation out of the old Four Leaf Fishpacking Plant.” I continued as I followed the path the bullet had taken centimeter by centimeter. My cooling fans were whirring from the processing power it was taking to go slow and not just dig into her right then and there. 

“I told you not to mess with those thugs and now look at you- filled with almost as many holes as I am,” I scolded. My eyes flicked to her face as she gritted her teeth and looked away sharply. I could tell by the set of her brows it wasn't just the pain, it was aggravation and exasperation as she glared at the filing cabinet as if she could burn a hole through the thing with just her eyes. She could glare all she liked, served her right butting her nose in where I told her it didn’t belong. 

“Not only that but you took the damn shortcut through hangman's alley I told you not to didn't you?” I growled, as I glanced down to the hound bites on her thigh, my ocular sensors flaring along with my frustration. The yellow-glow was bright against her face like the light of an interrogation room and she closed her eyes tightly. Damn foolish dame, did she think I wouldn't call her out on it? “Were you even thinking at all? Trudging through there with one working arm and Piper in God knows what condition!”

“Nick...” she tried meekly to interject before she winced and swallowed hard, but I didn't let up. The bullet was close now. 

“You both could have ended up chopped to bits and strung up for some super mutants lunch.” I chided, a growing anger gearing up in my core, “Why can’t you just use your head instead of your guns for once damn it!”

“Nick” she gasped trying again and I could see the sweat on her brow from the strain but I knew that I was close. Just a little further and I’d have the bullet. I could sense it. Like tailing a perp down a darkened alleyway and you knew, you just knew, he was right around the corner. I thought she might have said my name again but I was caught up in the chase. I felt the scrape of metal against metal and that was it, I had it. That very moment she just had to move reaching for something I couldn't see and I lost it.

“Hold still damn it! Haven't you done enough damage to yourself already!?” I shouted as I pinned her hard against the cold concrete wall to keep her still. She made a sound of pain as her back hit the wall and Dogmeat stood and barked protectively. I had shaken something loose from her gear and it clattered against the filing cabinet before splashing into the pool of blood and rain at her feet. I ignored it as I glared at her, my temper burning as brightly as my optics. When I saw the golden glow glittering in the tears in her deep blue eyes my anger fizzled out like a cigarette tossed into a puddle. 

Well so much for not making the gal cry.

She let out a tired sigh and laid her head back against the solid wall closing her eyes. The angle brought out the dark circles under them and the hollowness of her cheeks. She looked exhausted. Dogmeat came to her companionably and nudged her fingertips consolingly with his nose and she stroked his head feebly in thanks for his understanding. 

“We took the route,” she breathed wearily, “by Police Precinct 8 actually.”

A cold chill poured through my system as though I’d flooded it with too much coolant. I knew the implication of that location and to confirm my suspicions I glanced down. Dogmeat had picked something up off the floor and was holding it up to me in his mouth, tail wagging excitedly. 

It was a holotape.

Of course it was.

The Winter tapes.

I didn’t have to play the damn thing to pinpoint that bit of evidence. I was such an ass.

Something must have shown on my face because Dogmeat lowered his tail sadly and set the tape on the cardboard box of files near him before sulking away dejectedly. Nora on the other hand tried to distract me with a question, “The holotape was to Rodrigo Palomar, something about the Fallons Job?” Then God help me the doll smiled like she felt sorry for me, and the look she gave me wasn’t pity, it was something else. It was the sorta smile I'd seen her give MacCready when a kid would cough or Cait when she'd see a little girl who'd been roughed up. It was a kind smile, far kinder than I deserved.

She might have been going easy on me but I could have tossed myself into a swamp filled with mirelurks just about then. Some detective I was. I should have taken a closer look at the dog bites and realized they were more mongrel than mutant, probably from the yard just behind the precinct. All this damage, and she'd done it for me. 

“I suppose an apology is in order,” I stated, cringing at the fresh blood from her wound and the blood stained steel of my hand, my voice full of self-loathing.

Her expression was apologetic in turn, “No need. You were right about Cooke.”

I smiled for her but there wasn’t any joy in it, “Let's just get you fixed-up.”

I worked quietly after that. It was slow going from the fresh tearing and I was taking extra caution not to hurt her any more than I already had. I rerouted some sub-routines to try and hike up the sensitivity in my damaged digits hoping it might help, but it seemed to mostly give me a cold tingling sensation in my would-be fingertips and not much else. 

The rain was sheeting down outside heavily now, the wind whistling through the holes in the ramshackle dwelling I’d pieced together. Dust and cigarette ash kicked up from the floor and I knew Ellie was right, I really ought to clean up the place. Nora’s arm was pretty well dripping in blood by now but she was taking it like a champ until a fresh gust blew through and she shivered. I stilled instantly, but she cringed and tensed up immediately, balling her working hand into a fist and slamming it hard against the metal cabinet. The bottle of moonshine on top of the cabinet rattled warningly but didn’t fall. 

“This ones in far. You doin’ alright?”

She closed her eyes tightly and nodded and I took that as my signal, pressing deeper in. She whimpered and grit her teeth tight but stuck it out trying to be strong. She was always trying to be strong. It was bad enough to see a gal like that in pain. Worse to know I was causing it. 

I'd dealt with enough injured in my time to know when a distraction was in order, and maybe if I was honest, I felt a little guilty for layin’ into her so hard earlier. I calibrated my vocal modulator to the smooth rumbling tone she’d once said reminded her of bourbon on a cold winter’s night- too flattering a description if you asked me, but I knew she liked it so I got to talking.

“You remember that little pizzeria on Salem at Prince Street?” I began, and the look she managed to give me through her hurt was quizzical. Can't blame the girl, here I was knuckle deep in a gunshot wound and rambling about the old days.

“You mean Bova's? Wasn't that a-” she stuttered as I caught a bad angle, “a bakery? “ she gritted out.

“Yeah that's the one,” I marveled with exaggerated nostalgia, trying to lighten the mood, “best pizza in town, sandwiches weren't half bad either. Open all hours. Loved that place. Widmark and I used to grab something there before what we knew was gonna be a long grueling stakeout.”

I started reminiscing about the ratty little terrier that used to sit outside the window begging for scraps, and how I'd gotten Tommy Three Fingers a job there when he'd gotten out of the slammer for theft, about how he always gave me extra pickles on the rye as thanks, which seemed a bit ironic if you ask me. As I moved into how much better the coffee was at the South Street Diner and the cute brunette that used to make the pies, Nora began to catch on to my distraction technique. The questioning look changed and she gifted me a small knowing smile through her pain.

She was still hurting. I could tell in the way that her eyelids flickered now and then or she'd suddenly flex her fingers when I hit the wrong spot but the tension in her brow eased as I spoke in my low rumbling way, and the tight pained line of her lips parted into even breaths. I'd spent enough long difficult nights with her to know she found my voice soothing, if sleep inducing, but it still awed me somewhat to see her visibly lower her defenses every time it happened. I continued to prod carefully in search of the bullet, her heart beating around the steel of my finger as the sensors registered the steady pulse. I talked aimlessly about how good the little cannoli’s were with the chocolate drizzled on them and Widmark's terrible taste in radio shows on stakeouts not to mention pizza.

“I mean who puts anchovies on a ham and pineapple anywa-” I cut myself off abruptly as metal met metal again.

“Found it!” I exclaimed. The bullet was lodged in tight, the flesh healing over one edge, and she grimaced as I pressed it.

“This next part is going to hurt. Sorry Doll, you were right about the stimpack,” I soothed apologetically.

The look she gave me was tough as nails reminding me this wasn't her first rodeo but I could still sense her apprehension. I glanced up to the bottle on the cabinet, “Need more moonshine? Sorry we're out of Med-X. I can pop by Arturo's place and see if he has any. The hour's not ideal to go callin' on your neighbors but he owes me one.”

“No,” she whispered, “just need you,” she requested, reaching out weakly to grip the lapel of my coat in an effort to pull me closer before taking a deep shuddering breath her eyes unfocused and glassy.

Well now, that was a new one. But I was never one to deny a pretty gal a bit of comfort, meager as I had to offer, so I obliged taking a step forward so that we were only a foot apart. It was a bit awkward with the angle of our makeshift operation but I could make it work. She trembled as I neared and bowed her head, rocking forward in her boots to press her damp forehead against my firm shoulder.

I reached up under her wet hair to gently massage the back of her neck with my good hand in what I hoped was a calming gesture, “Hey now, chin up Doll. You're gonna be just fine.”

With great care I slid a second metal digit in beside the other, slowly easing it in and waited while she swallowed hard and tightened her grip on my jacket adjusting to the added girth. It was oddly intimate, being inside her like this and her nearness made it even more uncomfortable. I cranked up a couple of other settings to max anyway to make it easier to find my way around the bullet lodged against her scapula and minimize any damage. My sensors registered the wet of her blood and the pressure of her flesh, the small capillaries pulsing like a web around me. I circled the bullet carefully, a bit of overlapping tissue which had healed over tearing as I caught the metal between my fingers. She cried out, balling her fist in my jacket her brows knitting together sharply her eyes opening wide in pain. I don’t know what the hell I did wrong with that coding but as soon as those big baby blues locked with mine, it hurt me too. It was like a searing shock. Like I could feel the electricity of her nerves shooting off pain and zipping through my neural-net like a bolt of lightning. That hadn't happened before either, and I knew it wasn’t good. I hesitated, blood dripping down my steel forearm to patter on the concrete floor between us.

“Do it.” She panted harshly between quickened breaths and I could feel the vibration of it in the air.

I did as she commanded and tried to pull it out as quickly and painlessly as I thought possible while she buried her face in the crook of my neck biting back a scream. I wanted to scream with her because that jolting pain was back and doing a wicked number on my circuits, but I'd powered through pain plenty of times back on the beat and this wouldn't be any different. It was just a hellava lot tougher doing it playing doctor instead of detective.

I got a little sloppy on the finish when a particularly agonizing shock jolted down my spine and she did shout out in the end. Don't know why she suppressed it in the first place, I never would have held it against her. It was bad enough the poor girl got pulled out of her old world and tossed into this crappy new one. Now she was stuck here bleeding on the floor with nothing but a sorry sack of sprockets to patch her up.

I examined the twisted bullet pinched between my metal digits calculating the dimensions to ensure that was the full of it. It was all there and I was glad to have it done.

“You doing alright Darling?” I asked, dropping the bullet in favor of a fresh stimpack.

“Yeah,” she whispered raggedly, her cheek on my shoulder, eyes closed, her air flowing into my systems through the tear in my neck.

My intact hand slid into her hair as I pulled away to look at her. It was a mistake. I'd forgotten to recalibrate my sensitivity to a lower setting after the operation and my fleshy digits were extraordinarily over sensitized. The temperature difference between the air and her hair was exactly 1.02 degrees. I could feel the satin texture of each individual strand as it brushed against the back of my hand. A single drop if irradiated rain slid down my little finger and even if my internal Geiger counter wasn't registering under 1.0, I am positive I would have known through touch alone. If the Institute had given me fingerprints I could swear I would have been able to feel my mark pressed against the silk of her skin. 

The color was coming back to her now, her cheeks were pink and lips had regained their warm flush. My internal temperature gauge was rising and I was finding it difficult to focus on anything but the sensation of her in my hands. I ran a quick script, to regain my standard settings, watching as her tongue slid over her lips to moisten them leaving them slick and wet. I bit my own lip instinctively in response. On second thought, better crank the sensitivity down a couple of extra notches just to be safe...

There that was more like it. A whole lot less soft and smooth, and a whole lot more cold and wet. Now if only I could fix the problem with my eyes. You know. Having them.

I took my hands off her and focused on getting her patched up. I couldn't quite muster the will to step away from her so I let her remain resting on my shoulder as I gave her one stimpack dose, then another for good measure. That sealed the deal and miraculously the holes in her skin closed, the swelling went down, the burns cleared, and the bruising disappeared. Long black lashes fluttered and her eyes opened, the pale blue clearer than before.

Thank God for modern medicine.

As I pulled away from her taking my warmth with me and the heat of the healing agent wore off, Nora shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The threadbare sling slid with a wet slop down her shoulder to bunch around her waist, unneeded. Her teeth were chattering and I was beginning to think I had a good idea of what she musta looked like when she stepped out of that cryo chamber. 

“We better get you changed into something warmer and get you to bed. I think you’ve more than earned some rest.” I started to pull my coat off my shoulders so I could give it to her, but she cut me short catching my wrist and stilling the gentlemanly gesture.

I arched an etched on brow at her questioningly, “Good to see that shoulder is working fine but what gives?”

She pulled the coat back over my shoulders as she walked past me to the desk picking up the file, her file, and flipping it open, “Can't sleep. I found a lead. Not staying long. Just need to get your thoughts.”

I plucked the file right out of her foolish little fingertips and slapped it back down on the desk, “The only thing you're getting out of me tonight is a bed to sleep in and a fresh change of clothes.”

“But Nick-“ she protested.

“But nothing.” I interjected sternly, “We need to resupply before we're going anywhere and the shops are closed till morning. Look at you, you don't make sloppy mistakes like that unless you haven't slept in days, and frankly I don't feel like diggin' any more bullets out of you because you're too damn stubborn to get some sleep.”

She cringed, glaring down at her shaking hands and balled them into fists as if to punish them for their weakness. Had to give the girl some credit; not just anyone could have taken that kind of beating and still be standing. She was a tough broad but we all have our limits and she was reaching hers. It was hard to see her like that, fighting it, knowing why she was fighting it. I remembered my early days in Chicago knowing that if I slept, it meant one more body stacked up by the mobs. But one person can only do so much before they start making mistakes, deadly ones. Before you drive yourself too hard and too fast and when you crash it isn't only you in that car when it all goes up in flames. I still wasn't sure what was worse, being a human before or being a machine now, but I knew one thing from hard earned experience, “You gotta take care of yourself too, Darlin', if you want to take care of everyone else.“

She sighed. She knew I was right, and her shoulders sagged heavily as if the weight of the wide world was on her. She was losing the battle and she knew it. The cold was creeping in and she gave in this time, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself and shivering violently.

“Let me go get you something dry to put on. I'm getting cold just lookin' at you.” I gave her an empathetic smile and she seemed to give a little at that, relaxing against the desk. I squeezed her shoulder in passing reassurance as I moved up the stairs to head up to the second floor.

“Ellie's got some Sugarbombs and snack cakes in the top left drawer. You should eat something.” I called out as I climbed the creaking steps. The handyman in me griped that I really oughta nail those planks down a bit tighter soon and I took the stairs two at a time instead of one.

I could hear the rustle of plastic downstairs. Good she was eating. About time that gal did something to take care of herself. I made my way over to Ellie's dresser and had a brief moment of hesitation as I considered going through Ellie's things. I knew she wouldn't mind and Nora would probably be more comfortable in something of hers so I couldn't figure out why it was even giving me pause. Ellie and I shared just about everything any how. I shook my head dismissing the misplaced propriety and went through Ellie's drawer with a proper policeman's lack of reservation. Nothin' other than a bottle of Nuka Cola and a half eaten can of Cram.

I pulled out the suitcase from under the bed and rummaged through the meager remains of my wardrobe: a pair of torn up slacks that still had motor oil stains from my last tune up with Sturges, a vest that looked spottier than a dalmatian with bullet holes after the gunfight near Goodneighbor, a plain white threadbare dress shirt rumpled from being tossed into the suitcase instead of folded but it was intact and only smelled like I'd been smoking a pack a week in it instead of a pack a day. It seemed we had a winner. At the bottom of the pile there was a pink scarf, not Ellie's flowy scrap of striped fabric that I'd gotten her for her birthday a few years back, but a heavy knitted thick one of Nora's that was Mama Murphy's handiwork. I should know, I spent enough time lugging around balls of yarn for Nora to take back to Sanctuary for her. Nora always insisted it was something for the old woman to do instead of drugs and she wasn't wrong. I wasn't sure what Nora had done to earn the gift from the old addict but I had my suspicions it had less to do with getting high and more to do with doin' right. I grabbed the salvageable items and headed downstairs to give my loot to Nora, like always.

“We're in luck, a shirt without bullet holes and a pretty pink scarf that hardly smells of gun oil.” I announced as I reemerged.

“Easy there Rockafeller, it's not the Queen of Sheba you're entertaining here,” she volleyed back from her perch on the desk, Dogmeat laying at her feet and gnawing at a brahamin bone.

The bird may as well have been the Queen of Sheba; the picture she was presenting as she sat primly on the edge of my desk as dainty as I've ever seen someone soaking wet and smeared with blood. Her legs were neatly crossed and her back so straight you could balance a stack of books on her head. She'd poured the cereal into a broken vase that was now serving as a bowl, one of the white and blue ones from the Cabots that always reminded me of my grandmothers old china. She was poking out individual cereal bits with the single fork she'd charmed off Takahashi last week at the noodle stand and eating quietly. She'd politely removed her blood drenched gloves and wiped off her hands with the ruined sling and hung both with her gun holster neatly on the cigarette machine near the door. It was an odd sight to see someone eating so prettily in a burnt up vault suit while most folks just ate straight out of the box like Grognak reaping the rewards of a glorious battle. Hell, not shooting you on sight was civilized enough for most of our modern society.

“The Queen of the Castle is close enough for me.” I replied, offering her the scarf.

“I'm pretty sure that's Ellie's title around these parts, pilgrim,” she drawled playfully as she sat the bowl of cereal on the floor for the dog to finish before taking the scarf and bringing it to her face as she began to pat it dry. She pulled it away suddenly with a blink, “Hey this hardly smells like cigarettes and coolant at all. Is this mine?” she accused with a knowing grin.

“Here at Valentine's Detective Agency we serve only the best.” I teased back doing my best Mr. Handy impression as I walked over to start up the hotplate, snatching up the tin of coffee from behind her, “For example, select blends of Super Duper's best, aged for 200 years in only the finest of aluminum.” Popping open the tin of coffee I took a whiff and dropped the act, “still's got some flavor... maybe.. if we're lucky.”

“Can you taste it?” she asked with genuine curiosity in her tone, leaning toward me with interest, her full lips pursed and sitting dangerously close from her perch on the desk.

“My Dear Nora, what a scandalous suggestion,” I joked with a waggle of false brows.

She smiled begrudgingly amused and whapped my arm with the corner of the scarf, “You're hopeless.”

“Don't I know it.” I replied, as she slid off the desk to give me room to work. As she drifted past I tried to ignore the way her hips swayed with an innate old-fashioned allure that kicked up the speed on my cooling fans- and failed. While the offhanded comment seemed to stick uncomfortably to my insides like all the tar from the cigarettes I smoked but didn't really need.

Best not to dwell too much on that.

I made myself useful turned on the hotplate getting the coffee going while Nora dried off, trying my damnedest not to think about it. When I turned around again Nora had wiped the dirt and blood off her face and was carefully patting her hair dry, starting to look more like one of the gals in the Nuka Cola ads than some rough and worn raider. Lookin' more like the girl that'd rescued me from the vault and left Skinny Malone and his new dame in the dust with nothin' but a bit of intel and a grin. I looked at the now bloodsoaked edge of that pretty pink scarf and wondered just how long it would be until this world got its claws in her, hoping against hope that it never would.

If I was struggling over my worries about a sweet gal like that getting mixed up in a world like this, she was struggling instead with the rain soaked strap of her chest plate. She had gotten the armguards off alright but between her renewed shaking from the cold and the leather being swollen from the rain, she was having trouble undoing the clasp at the back of her neck.

“Here let me help you with that,” I offered.

She nodded and turned her back to me and I couldn't help but notice how the rain soaked valutsuit clinged to her like a second skin. Her legs were long and toned from all the roads we’d been traveling, and her waist was narrow from the lack of decent food, but her curves were still gently rounded from the good old days, and boy let me tell you they were knockout curves.

I forced my gaze up, but that was almost worse. Her hair was a black as a raven's wing and glittering wet in the darkness. She pulled the thick locks up with both hands revealing the slim column of her swan-like neck and the little silver clasp I was expected to unstrap. It was like she was offering herself to me. I stepped up close behind her and started to undo the clasp, but she was undoing me in turn and I couldn’t help being distracted. From this angle the delicate planes of her downturned face were illuminated in the soft warm light of the desklamp. Two hundred years in a cyrochamber buried underground must have been good for the complexion, because doggone it her skin was like porcelain, pale and smooth and flawless. She had the bone structure of Gene Tierney with high cheekbones and a softly rounded chin and the kind of sweeping dark lashes that would have made even Elizabeth Taylor weep with envy. And don't even get me started on her lips. When she shivered it felt like it moved through me. 

“Having trouble?” she asked innocently, her breath soft and all too husky. 

“It's a bit complicated,“ I said. 

It wasn't. I had the clasp loose in two shakes of a lamb’s tail and the chestplate clattered to the ground. I knelt at her feet to move it out of the way.

“Think you could get those leg guards while you're down there?,” she asked.

“Sure, sure,” I replied, as if unaffected. She stepped forward towards me as I tried to avoid the cool wet slide of her vault suit over her skin. I removed the leg guards and was moving onto her boots doing my best to focus on the task at hand when the toothy sound of a zipper sliding down caught my attention. Oh sweet mother hubbard she's not-

I glanced up and God was that ever a mistake. 

Any regrouping I'd managed sifted through my metal fingers like sand. I forgot to breathe. Good thing I didn't need to. It was just a glance but there she was, plain as day, eyes closed, tossing her head back with her zipper down past her navel in an all too revealing ‘V’. I looked back to the floor quicker than a stingwing, but the damn image was burned into my hard drive. The gentle arc of her back, the delicate bow of her clavicles, the soft inside swell of her damn perfect breasts, and lots and lots of pale wet skin. I wasn't foolin’ when I said she looked like one of the gal's in the Nuka Cola ads, and every hairy palmed teenager from Texas to Tazmania would have had her plastered on their wall.

My cooling functions weren't used to this kind of overtime and I could feel the strain of it on my old system as it pumped hard and furious at me. Damn Dame, she's lucky I don't have a heart or I'd certainly have had a heart attack by now.

Focus on the job Valentine. I reminded myself. She's only being so comfortable with you because she knows you're just nuts and bolts. But if only that were wholly true, wish it was, it’d make the task of undoing the laces of her boots easier without getting so tangled up in my thoughts. It was a difficult to try and delete the image from my memory banks while working the road worn leather loose, but I managed to get the boots off without embarrassing myself.

“Hold on a minute. I’m trying to get my arm out of this thing, but it's clinging to me like a bloodbug to a Brahamin,” she beseeched from above.

A witty retort was on the tip of my tongue but the wet flop of her vault suit hitting the floor next to me caused me to swallow the words in my throat.

I found myself on my hands and knees inches away from Nora’s naked flesh, her clothes in a heap on my floor, while she stood there wet and trembling above me. I’d be a bald faced liar if I said I’d never imagined this scenario before during my long and sleepless nights. I was still a man and had a man’s urges, even if I couldn’t do a damn thing about them. I tried to keep my gaze to the ground out of respect, but legs had always been my weakness and so my optics cranked upward slowly as if they were coded to it, hell maybe they were. I couldn’t help but notice her ankles were narrow and perfectly molded as she stepped catlike out of the garment. Her calves toned and supple glistening with a fine sheen of rainwater, her knees seemed carved from ivory like some kind of ancient goddess, and those tantalizing thighs-

Hold it right there Valentine. Not an inch further. 

I rocked back on my heels and tried not to ogle. But God help me, she had the legs of a dancer, all long lean grace and hidden power. She swept her vault suit away with a graceful rond de jambe, the stark lighting in the office only highlighting every wet glorious curve in the spotlight. I hadn't seen a pair of gams like that in over a lifetime and the allure wasn't lost on me- rusting pistons or no. I wondered briefly if I still had that extra jug of coolant in the bottom drawer of my desk because at this rate I was going to dry out faster than a Corvega Rocket 69.

I was drawn from my reveries by a sharp gasp when Nora took a step and slipped suddenly in the puddle of rainwater gathered at her feet. She tried to grab the end of the desk, I could hear her nails scratch over it’s surface, but she missed knocking over the desk fan and sending down a shower of paper from the stack of case files beside it. Dogmeat made a startled yip jumping out of the way of the plummeting fan as I darted forward to reach up through the flurry of falling paper to grab Nora’s hip with my good hand. Her left knee came down hard on my shoulder and her hands caught my head between her legs knocking my hat askew. She managed to keep herself from tumbling over my head onto the dirty floor like a sack full of tatoes and I got cheek full of smooth bare thigh for my troubles. I lifted my hand up to help her regain her balance. My metal fingers had just barely grazed the back of her knee when she let out a soft “Oh!” caught somewhere between surprise and pleasure.

The sound of it sent a jolt of electricity right down my spine. There was instantly a static sound in my head, like when you had the television tuned wrong and got nothin’ but a snowstorm. In my field of vision everything moved in slow motion as the pink scarf fluttered brightly through the snow drift of falling faded papers. My vision blurred. The sound got louder. My world brightened to white and I knew what was coming. 

It was a hell of a time for a flash of the old Nick's life and I tried to brace myself as I was transported to another time and place...


End file.
